Final Moments
by BlackOpal
Summary: In the last moments of James Potter's life, he recalls the beauty of his wife, the potential of his son... and the irony of his death.


Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, own nothing of the characters. They belong to JK Rowling, WB and other lucky ducks. I do however own the story, as you will see from my copyright on the bottom of the page, so don't steal it pretty please.

A/N: To Irene, a peace offering because I didn't have lunch with her. Also, to help her survive finals. (This is my first and last L/J, I'm not attracted to them that much, 'Rene is instead.)

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I never liked the winter. To me, winter was always a sign of darkness, bitterness- cold. The bone chilling, blood freezing snow that came with it usually caused me reason to run indoors and huddle by a fire until I could finally feel my toes. My hatred for it ran deep until it mingled with things I could not even separate it. Each year, I would take great care to avoid it; it was an omen in my eyes and one to be avoided at that.

I should've known the winter would be the brunt of my pain. In the year we had everything going for us, a baby, a home, safety, security, I should've known winter was cruel enough to rip it away from us right then.

I still remember that night. I remember the soft song you were singing under your breath as you rocked him. Even after five months you still couldn't get enough of seeing his eye or hearing his subtle yawns. It was amazing to watch you.

You were so beautiful. As you cradled him, bits of your hair invaded your eyes. You pushed it away. That's all. You simply pushed those few strands behind your ears with the doubling piercing I had found so damn attractive as a boy. It was the way you did it that had driven me wild. You flicked it behind your ear with ease, flashing me wrist before returning to cradling our boy, our Harry's, head.

You were wearing your favorite perfume. I could smell it all the way over to the corner where I was reading "How to Make the Most of Your Broom" for the third time. You were saying something to me about how if I read that book one more time the pages would fall from the spine.

"You love that book more than me," you said once. You were wrong. I had never loved anyone or anything so much in my entire life. I told you so and you had laughed.

Shadows danced around us, swirling to Harry's coos and your baby talk back to him. I was content. If I had died right then, I would've died happy. I was hearing my two beloveds chattering in the night, I was by a fire and had a book in my hand.

I remember that thought. I had been thinking it exactly twenty-two seconds before the inevitable happened. I heard the creaking on the steps first. A foul odor filled my nostrils; they flared to a burnt, rotten stench. My heart stopped. Footsteps came next, slowing climbing the stairs to the nursery, one, two, three...They became closer and closer with every second.

You hadn't heard them yet; the mobile above Harry's crib was drowning out any noise. We were doomed. I knew it. Tears began to flow down, desperation fleeted into my mind and I was caught between an attempt at hiding you and Harry or an attempt at rushing into the intruders and trying to fight them while you escape. I chose the latter.

"Darling, I'm going to get a glass of water." I murmured. You made no recognition that you had heard me.

My hand touched the doorknob. I was so close. If only I could lead them away for a bit, just away from you two, you might have a chance.

A searing pain ran up the muscles of my arm, contracting and twisting into an agony I had never before endured. I stepped away. A force was controlling me and though I fought it, no one could resist the powerful charm. It threw me against a wall, crashing me into a rocking chair and one of Harry's toy trucks. I crushed the rocking chair, ruined the truck and broke my leg bone with a disgusting crack.

You turned to look at me, still holding our son in your arms. You screamed and all at once you knew that this was it, what we had been so fearful for. I could smell your desperation and your fear. I knew that fire in your eyes as you set Harry in his crib, wrapping him in blankets and pillows to make him appear hidden.

It happened so quickly, it was only seconds. He Who Must Not Be Named stood before you, wand raised and a wicked smile plastered center on his face. He was bleak, dark and a mass of nothing. His cold heart could be felt a mile away but now, it was directed towards you.

I could hear my heart. I swear I thought he could've heard it too. His wand tip was at your heart when I cried out. It was a sharp, piercing scream that cut through the night. You looked at me, pleading. I threw you into an agony as you watched the Dark Lord turn to me and grin a slow, tantalizing smile.

I couldn't. I couldn't stand there and let you be blow into smithereens. You had to understand that. I knew you didn't, I could see it in your eyes as he muttered some spell that was sure to end my life. It had been worth it. That was my thought as the force of the enchantment hit me.

I felt myself being thrown into the wall, plaster fell around me. I was dying. A dam from inside me had burst and all the warmth I carried flowed from me. Darkness swirled until you were no longer recognizable.

So this was what it's like to die.

I had just been thinking that thought, wondering how long it was going to take for me to finally die, when a brilliant flash filled the room. You screamed but were stopped halfway through it.

You were dead.

I wanted to scream. I urged my body to quiver and morn. I demanded that my eyes well with tears and my mind explode with a mind-numbing agony. It couldn't, as much as I wanted to grieve for you, it was physically impossible. The spell the Dark Lord had cast upon me deprived me of doing anything but die a slow, horrible death.

The room grew quiet without you. It was an odd silence that I was not used to hearing. Neither, it seemed was Harry. The baby turned in his crib and caused it to creak. Suddenly, he screamed, sobbing at the thought of being hidden underneath the layers of cloth you had thrown over him.

My heart sunk, it was over. I could finally feel myself slipping away. I could no longer move, I could no longer think. My mind was fading...

The last thing I heard was Harry, my child, screaming at the top of his lungs and the Dark Lord muttering to his minions, "Bring me the boy."

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© BlackOpal Fanfiction Productions. All Rights Reserved. 2004.


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